


Voices Drifting

by raven_maiden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Big Dick Draco, Co-workers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Finger Sucking, Gratuitous Smut, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink, idiots to lovers, partially-clothed sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26397679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_maiden/pseuds/raven_maiden
Summary: “Since when does Hermione Granger wear a dress like that?”“Since she feels like it.”His mouth twitched and he stood aside, opening the door. “After you.” He caught her wrist as she tried to pass through. “Red’s your color, Granger.”She tore her arm free and made a beeline for the bar.**After one last night together at the Ministry Gala, Hermione Granger plans to purge her secret shagging partner from her system. But when it comes to Draco Malfoy, nothing goes according to plan.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 85
Kudos: 1656





	Voices Drifting

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been a hot minute, dears. I started a new job recently, but this plunny still demanded to be written. I hope you enjoy. 💕

Hermione Granger was all too familiar with the art of a clean break. She’d done it with Ron, and when she had to obliviate her parents. When she’d turned in her notice at the DRCMC. 

Slow, uncertain goodbyes, on the other hand—the kind that twisted around your heart, suffocating, but never breaking—those were an unfamiliar kind of torture. But she’d survive it one minute at a time. 

Her eyes turned to the clock on her mantlepiece. Seven twenty-nine. Cursing, she grabbed her clutch and crossed the room, throwing a handful of Floo powder in the fireplace. 

She closed her eyes as she spun. The gate of the Ministry fireplace swung open seconds later, and she barely had a moment to test the tread of her new heels when her eyes caught on a tall figure in black dress robes. 

Her insides clenched. It felt like the last time. 

Of course she’d see him in the hallways every now and then. Or the lifts. He occasionally dropped by her favorite Muggle deli for lunch, and they both preferred the same pub on Whitehall after a long week. 

But it might be the last time she saw Draco Malfoy like _this_ — waiting just for her, his expression cool and his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall as if he had all the time in the world. It might be the last time his lazy once-over made her stomach swoop, or her heart thumped erratically when their eyes met. 

“Granger.” He took longer than usual to meet her gaze, following the neckline of her dress. 

“Malfoy.” 

He straightened, pushing off the green bricks. “You’re late.” 

“Yes, well.” She fingered the tie-strap on her shoulder. “I got held up.”

The problem had been her hair. After half an hour, she’d finally managed to style it in a passable chignon. But then her eye had caught on the low dip of her dress on her way out, and she’d lost her nerve. She’d ripped out the pins in front of her entryway mirror and left her hair long and loose. It made her feel less exposed.

A feeling that didn’t line up with the way he was currently looking at her. 

He stepped forward, meeting her in the middle of the hall. “Most of the Council is already here. Gibbons asked about you on his way in.” 

Hermione tilted her head up to look at him. It was less of a stretch in heels. She could slip her fingers into his hair and easily pull him down to her lips, if she wanted. She could run her hands over his chest and see whether the fabric felt as soft as it looked. 

She quickly blinked down at her clutch. There was no room for those thoughts tonight. 

“Let’s go, then.” She moved in front of him, walking briskly towards the other side of the Atrium. 

It took him four strides to catch up with her. Their shoes clicked in perfect synchrony as they moved towards the low rumble emerging from the doors at the far end of the hall. She felt her curls swaying across the bare skin exposed by her backless dress. 

She hoped he noticed it. 

Tonight was the last time Malfoy’s name appeared in her planner this year. Their project was over, their paperwork filed, and both heads of their departments briefed. 

The dress served a purpose. If she could make him regret it somehow— the end of whatever this thing was between them— it might help ease the tightness in her ribs. 

They were rounding the fountain when he spoke. 

“Since when does Hermione Granger arrive thirty minutes late to the annual Ministry Gala?” 

“I seem to recall you arriving an hour late last year, Malfoy.” 

“You noticed.” 

Gritting her teeth, she picked up speed. 

He managed to step in front of her once they reached the ballroom doors, blocking her entrance. His eyes traced the lines of her dress. 

“Since when does Hermione Granger wear a dress like that?”

“Since she feels like it.” 

His mouth twitched and he stood aside, opening the door. “After you.” He caught her wrist as she tried to pass through. “Red’s your color, Granger.” 

She tore her arm free and made a beeline for the bar. 

The ballroom was more elaborate than usual this year. The room was cast in purple-blue light that glowed nearly fluorescent on the white linens. A thousand orbs floated overhead, their ice-white flames reflecting on the glittering crystal sculptures below. The crowd mingled and laughed, their voices a steady hum above the instrumental music. 

Malfoy didn’t follow her. Hermione stewed about it for several moments until her temper redirected to the length of the queue. She’d almost reached the end of it when her eyes caught a woman in violent magenta. 

“Hermione!” 

She startled to find Luna Lovegood waving her over, her carrot earrings thrashing wildly. Hermione broke into a smile.

“Luna. You look beautiful.” Hermione embraced her before turning to hug Rolf, whose green robes clashed horribly with his fiancee’s. 

They caught up on work and Rolf’s latest safari, and Hermione felt the tension ease from her chest. The topic had just turned to their upcoming wedding when there was a tap on Hermione’s shoulder. She spun around to find Anthony Goldstein, looking handsome in white robes. 

“Anthony!” Blinking, she gave him a quick hug. “It’s good to see you.” 

“And you.” He stared at her for a moment before glancing around the room. “The queues are awful this year, yeah?” 

“Unbelievable. I wish I brought a flask.” 

“If only. I had to wait twenty minutes for this.” He tapped his glass. “I’d offer you my drink, but I’m told you’re a horrible snob about your cocktails.” 

“Only heathens drink dirty martinis.” 

“So I’m told.” He leaned into her ear. “You’ll be pleased to know I only asked for a splash of olive juice this time.” 

Laughing, Hermione gestured him forward. “You remember Luna and Rolf.” 

Hermione fiddled with her sleeve as Anthony greeted them, suddenly short of breath. 

She and Anthony had dated for about a month at the beginning of the year. He was clever and funny, and she’d seriously considered sleeping with him if only to rid herself of the indignity of not having fucked anyone since Ron. But she’d lost interest around February. 

She’d blamed her work schedule, but the truth was that her world had tilted on its axis ever since Malfoy joined the task force. 

Anthony turned to wink at her while Luna answered a polite inquiry about work. Hermione smiled and looked away, tucking a curl behind her ear.

Perhaps he might ask her out again. He was a lovely kisser, and quite fit. He could make a good rebound. Even if the thought of sleeping with someone other than Malfoy made her ill. 

Something warm brushed her back, and Hermione startled. 

Malfoy. 

His expression was unreadable as he handed her a drink. 

She felt her brows pull together. “Thanks.” 

“Lovegood. Scamander.” Malfoy stepped forward to shake their hands. He took a long sip of Firewhisky before his gaze flickered to Anthony. 

“Goldstein.” 

“Malfoy.” There was a slight chill to Anthony’s tone. “Cut ahead, did you?” 

Malfoy gave a noncommittal hum, turning to look at her. “Try it. You’ll like it, trust me.”

Hermione smiled tightly and took a quick sip. It was the perfect cocktail— equal parts vodka, gin, and Lillet blanc, finished with a twist. 

“It’s— very good.” Her heart began pounding. “Thank you.” 

Malfoy appraised her for a moment before glancing at the others. “I hate to be rude, but we should make the rounds.”

“Oh,” said Anthony. “Hermione, I—” 

“Excuse us.” 

Hermione mumbled a goodbye over her shoulder as Malfoy steered them away, gaping down at her glass. 

He knew her favorite drink. 

She’d ordered it in front of him exactly once, at a rare work dinner with a French Council Member. That had been six months ago, at least— yet he’d remembered somehow. 

They cut through the crowd, his hand resting just below her shoulder blades, and she swallowed. He’d always been observant. She wouldn’t let herself read into things. 

“Tell me something, Granger.” Malfoy’s voice was low in her ear. “What do the two of you even talk about?” 

She frowned, sidestepping a stranger. “I worked with Luna for four years. We have plenty to—” 

“I meant Goldstein.” His palm slid lower down her back, and she fought the urge to shiver. 

“Anthony is lovely to talk to.” 

“Really.” His tone was scathing. “The man has no original opinions. He does nothing but agree with you.” 

Her feet stopped cold and Malfoy bumped into her, sending a splash of her drink to the floor. She whipped around to face him. 

“He’s an Unspeakable. I can’t believe you’re questioning his intelligence—” 

“I didn’t call him stupid. I called him a pushover.” There was a hard glint in his eyes. “Never took you as the type to be interested in sycophants. Then again, you did date Weasley.” 

The simmering in her veins spiked. “Perhaps you don’t know me at all, Malfoy.” 

He laughed, and the sound set her teeth on edge. “Does it make you feel better to think so?” 

“Hermione!”

They both turned to find Harry and Ginny making their way over to them. Malfoy muttered a curse behind her. 

“Ginny! Harry!” She forced a smile and gave them both a tight hug. 

“Malfoy,” said Harry, with a tilt of his head. 

“Potter.” They shook hands, and Malfoy nodded at Ginny when he stepped away. “Potterette.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes and turned to Hermione. “You look stunning. I’ve never seen you in anything backless.” 

The tips of her ears burned. “Thanks, Gin.” 

Hermione chatted with Ginny about James’ latest milestones and her plans to return to the Holyhead Harpies while Harry and Malfoy discussed work. Her pulse had almost returned to normal when she caught Ginny glancing at Malfoy with a shrewd look in her eye. 

Ginny knew, of course. 

Three months ago, they’d been sitting on a bench in a park when Hermione had asked for her advice. Two days earlier, she and Malfoy had been working another late night in his office when an argument turned into a kiss to shut him up. Somehow she’d ended up flat on his desk, her skirt around her hips and her knickers shoved aside as he pounded into her. 

They’d come together, her with a wail and him with a snarl. She’d panicked as soon as her mind cleared, but then he dropped to a knee and licked her clean until she came again. She’d been half-dazed when he bent her over his desk the second time, her fingers pinned beneath his as she watched memos scatter to the ground. 

“Ginny,” she’d said. “A friend of mine is in a situation I don’t have much experience with, and I’m not sure how to advise her.” 

“Oh? Who’s this?” 

“Sorry, but I— promised I wouldn’t say. She’s just a casual work friend, really.” 

Ginny had shifted to look at her. “Now I’m intrigued. Go on.” 

“Right,” Hermione had said, picking at her scarf. “She’s fallen into a sort of— friends with benefits situation. Only they’re not friends. She thinks he’s a tosser, actually, but she says the sex was spectacular.” 

“Hmm.” Ginny had been silent for a moment, running her thumbs over James’ tiny knuckles. “Is there any indication that it could be more than sex?” 

“Erm— probably not. He’s never given any indication that he _liked_ her, apart from the obvious.” Hermione had drawn a slow breath. “Anyway, she’s not really sure how to go about things—” 

“It’s simple.” Ginny’s voice had been deceptively light. “Set a few rules. Discuss how discreet she expects him to be and whether they can see other people.” 

Hermione had chewed on her lower lip, feeling slightly nauseous. 

“It’s not for everyone. Your friend has to be fine with him owing her nothing emotionally.” 

A breeze from the nearby lake had swept over them. Hermione had reached out to smooth James’ hair. 

“I think she’s a bit... confused about everything. But it’s— well, she claims it was really good.” 

Ginny had sighed. “If she feels good about the situation, she should keep on. But she should cut him off if that changes. Unless she’s willing to talk to him about her feelings.” 

They’d changed the subject after that. But the look in Ginny’s eyes had made it clear that she’d been caught. It was the same way she was looking at her now. 

Hermione startled and blinked away. 

“—heard Shacklebolt’s searching for you,” Harry was saying. “Apparently there’s a reporter. They want a quote for the Sunday edition.” 

“Lovely.” Malfoy drained the last of his Firewhiskey. 

“Yes, well, you two are the pride of the Ministry right now, aren’t you?” Ginny’s mouth quirked. “I still can’t believe you pulled it off, especially with that Jogson wanker trying to sabotage you at every turn.” 

“Johnston,” Hermione corrected her. 

“Oh, I know his name. I just prefer to mispronounce it.” Ginny craned her neck and squinted at something in the distance before turning back to them. “Sorry. Thought I saw a terribly dressed ginger, but no. Ron’s around, and I know he wanted to say hello—”

“We should get going,” said Malfoy. “We’re expected to make an appearance, and it’s already”— he glanced at his watch—“half eight.” 

Hermione’s eyes popped. “Damn. Sorry, Ginny— Harry”— she kissed them both on the cheek— I’ll see you Sunday.” 

“Go,” said Ginny, glancing at Malfoy again. 

They headed to the far corner of the ballroom, towards the area reserved for semi-private gatherings. Malfoy didn’t put his hand on her back again, and Hermione tried, but failed, to feel relieved about it.

She’d tried to follow Ginny’s advice— she really had. But the conversation she’d attempted to have in his office ended up with her flat on her back on a Monday morning. It had seemed pointless to set limits after that. 

Their footsteps slowed as they approached the section. Guests stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, laughing and mingling as smoke from the photographer floated up to the ceiling. A waiter bobbed through the crowd, passing out glasses of champagne. 

They walked up to the velvet rope, pausing while Malfoy produced a letter from his robes. The wizard standing guard nodded and stepped aside, and they squeezed inside the area. 

There was hardly any room to breathe. Hermione frowned up at the hulking man whose back was directly in front of her. 

“Draco,” called out a feminine voice to their right. 

“Linnéa.” 

Hermione froze. Linnéa Nilsson was the youngest sitting member of the ICW. She’d supported the resolution, but her easy rapport with Malfoy stirred up emotions that Hermione refused to name.

“You look lovely this evening,” Malfoy said as Hermione slunk backward, out of view. He kissed Linnéa on the cheek. “Glad you could make it—” 

Hermione slipped away before either of them could notice. 

She first greeted the delegate from Estonia, who was accompanied by the new President; when they were called away, she chatted with the Foreign Secretary from India. She answered a few questions for the reporter until Gibbons found her, and after enduring twenty minutes of his wandering eyes, she managed to pawn him off on the new Spanish Council Member. 

A tingling in her spine told her that Malfoy’s eyes were on her, so she wound further into the crowd, engaging Kingsley and the Namibian Minister in an intense conversation about implementation plans. When Malfoy interrupted them a few minutes later, she pretended to just notice Robards over her shoulder and quickly extricated herself. 

Hermione knew she was being childish— unprofessional, even, but the itchy panic beneath her skin told her that the further she stayed away from Malfoy, the better. 

She bumped into Linnéa next, and it took less than a minute of chatting for Hermione to realize that she liked her far better when Malfoy wasn’t around. Linnéa’s close-lipped smile wasn’t coquettish, but shy, she realized; her long pauses were thoughtful, not condescending. When Linnéa suggested a lunch date in the new year, Hermione felt sick with self-loathing. 

Swapping her empty glass for a flute of champagne, Hermione accepted Linnéa’s invitation with the most genuine smile she could muster.

They were mid-conversation when there was a sharp clanging of glass. 

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.” 

Hermione’s muscles tensed. 

Noah Johnston, British delegate and official chair of the task force, was the most sexist toerag Hermione had ever worked with. Back in March, he’d cornered her after a meeting and asked her to dinner. She’d declined, and he’d made her life hell ever since. When he hadn’t been busy ignoring her owls, he was busy interrupting or criticizing her ideas. Publicly. Even Malfoy had taken offense to his behavior, but Hermione insisted he remain quiet. 

“Ahem.” Johnston tapped his glass again. Hermione pressed her lips together. 

She’d considered reporting him, but Johnston had his hand in too many pockets. One day she’d be in a position to change the rules. And it couldn't come soon enough. 

Johnston gave up, waving his wand at his throat. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.” 

The crowd instantly quieted.

“As you all know, we have a momentous occasion to celebrate this evening. Two weeks ago, the International Confederation of Wizards voted to adopt Resolution 2388 on preventing and penalizing the trafficking of Muggleborns.” 

The room erupted in applause. Johnston nodded in encouragement until it died out. 

“I want to take a few minutes to acknowledge the many individuals who made this possible.” 

Johnston rattled off name after name to polite clapping and occasional cheers. Hermione’s mind began drifting as he droned on, the faces blending and noise crashing over her in waves. 

And like a beacon, her eyes found Malfoy’s across the room. 

She quickly tore them away. Her heart thumped a staccato rhythm as she stared at the polished floor. 

Two weeks ago, she and Malfoy had been waiting in his office when they received word that the resolution had passed. Hermione had thrown her arms around Malfoy’s neck, screaming as he swept her off her feet and spun her around the room. 

But then their laughter had died, and the world stopped spinning, and he set her down slowly. Her hands had slid quickly from his neck, and she stepped away. She hadn’t been able to meet his eyes then, either. 

“I can’t believe it,” she’d said. “It doesn’t feel real.”

What she hadn’t said was that her triumph and adrenaline were giving way to something heavy and sharp, twisting through her ribs. 

“I know.” There had been a long silence. “This time next week, we’ll both be back to the usual. It’s— surreal.” 

“Yeah,” Hermione had said. She’d spilled a bit of coffee that morning on her shoes, she realized. 

“I just hope—” He’d paused, clearing his throat. “I hope Robards doesn’t give me a field assignment anytime soon. I’m not even sure I know how to deflect a curse anymore.” 

Hermione had let out an unfamiliar laugh. “Probably safest not to mention it.” 

“Probably.” 

His shoes had scuffled against the wood. 

“I wonder what’s next,” Hermione had said. She’d forced herself to meet his eyes. 

“Who knows.” He’d scratched his jaw. “I just can’t believe it’s over.” 

And the blade had found its mark. 

She’d come up with a quick excuse and left his office in under a minute flat. She’d managed to make it inside a lift— mercifully empty— before she began crying.

Ron had fought for her when things ended. But Malfoy had thrown her away with two hands. 

“...speaking of Draco Malfoy, of course.” 

Hermione jolted back into her body. She looked up to find Malfoy staring at Johnston, his lips twisted in a semblance of a smile. The crowd was laughing. 

“— only wish I were joking. Draco was the real chair of the task force these last eleven months. Don’t tell my boss.” 

The crowd laughed again. Johnston’s face grew solemn. 

“As head liaison from the DMLE, Draco worked tirelessly across departments and agencies to help draft and promote this historic legislation. Please join me in—”

“Thank you, Noah, but I believe that honor goes to my colleague.” 

Hermione’s fingers went numb on her wine glass. 

“Hermione Granger was the one who pushed this resolution to the top of the Ministry’s agenda. She drafted its earliest language and worked an ungodly number of hours to see to it that it passed.”

A photographer snapped a close shot of Hermione’s face, and she jumped. 

Her eyes held Malfoy’s through the smoke. He raised his glass. “To my colleague, Hermione Granger.” 

The crowd parted around her, and the room almost pitched forward when she broke Malfoy’s gaze. She tried to listen to what Johnston was saying, but she couldn’t hear above the ringing in her ears. 

The applause ebbed. Johnston took control again, rambling about progress and the future. 

And two words seeped in Hermione’s pores, slipping through her bloodstream like poison.

_My colleague._

It could have been minutes, or hours, until the crowd scattered. Hands found hers, and Hermione shook them with a smile. She kissed cheeks and murmured pleasantries, her mind heavy and exhausted. There was a brief pause in well wishers, and Hermione seized her chance to slip through the exit and stumble back into the ballroom.

He was an excellent colleague— the best, really. And she was a fool. 

Her eyes began stinging, and she quickened her pace as she approached the center of the party. Thankfully, the lights had been dimmed for the Gala’s final phase, the tables swept against the farthest wall. 

She halted at the edge of the packed dance floor, frowning through the swaying couples. The closest path to the exit was through the center, but there was no way she could cross without being seen. 

Turning on her heel, she followed the perimeter. She’d just rounded the closest corner when her path was obstructed by a wall of black. 

Her feet stumbled. “Malfoy.” 

“Sneaking off, Granger?” His tone was casual, but his mouth was tight. 

“Not at all,” she said. “I’m just tired.”

He checked his watch. “It’s half ten.” 

Her reply was drowned out by a swell of cheers. She paused, watching the band bow and wave at the audience before taking up their instruments again. 

Another slow song. 

“Sorry I didn’t find you before I left.” She lifted her chin. “I meant to thank you for what you said back there.” 

Malfoy’s jaw ticked. “It was nothing.” 

“Not to me.” 

He simply looked at her. 

“Malfoy—” Her voice faltered. She glanced over her shoulder again, staring at the bodies drifting and colliding together.

She knew the way he moved, through hallways and behind closed doors. She knew every line and angle and shadow of his face. 

But that didn’t make him hers. 

Turning back to him, she managed a smile. “It’s been a pleasure working with you. Truly.” 

His eyes grew flinty as he stared at her. 

“I hope you have a nice holiday.” 

She tried to move around him. He sidestepped. 

“Why didn’t you answer my owls.” 

He’d sent her three owls, spaced exactly four days apart. All about work. 

“They weren’t urgent.” Her fingers dug into her clutch. “I figured we could discuss them tonight—”

“Which is why you’re running away.” 

She closed her eyes. 

“Granger—”

“I didn’t want to complicate things for you.” 

The words had slipped out before she could stop them. Blinking, she ducked her chin.

“For me,” he said slowly. 

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me, Malfoy. I enjoyed myself. There aren’t any hard feelings.” 

The music floated between them, filling the silence. 

“I have nothing but positive things to say about working with you.” She forced her eyes upward. “Should you ever need an outside reference, I’m happy to give one.”

He had a searching look she’d seen on occasion— as though he wanted to crack her open and see what was inside. 

She wouldn’t let him this time. 

Her lips stretched in a smile, and she offered her hand.

He didn’t take it. 

Something caught in her airway. She let her arm fall, glancing sharply around the room. 

“Let me be perfectly clear, Granger.” Malfoy stepped closer. “I don’t want this to be over. I never did.” 

Her eyes jerked up to his. 

“The only thing I want is to take you back to my flat and rip that dress off your body.” His tone was cool. As if he wasn’t looking at her like he wanted to devour her. 

She struggled to think. They’d never been to his flat before—

“We can talk about your willful misunderstanding of what I said in my office. But that’s a conversation I’d rather have when you’re naked.” 

Her heart pounded in her throat. “Malfoy, I—”

“If you want what I want”—he took another step—“then I’m happy to escort you from the premises so we can settle this like adults.” 

He was barely a pace away, his eyes like liquid mercury. The heat of them curled inward, pooling low in her belly. 

“What will it be, Granger.” 

Hermione drew a sharp breath. She shouldn’t, she knew. The feel of him would never be enough. 

A new song began playing, and his eyes roved her face. She felt her body tilt towards him as music wound around them, his pull on her slow and inevitable. 

Maybe she’d damn herself. But at least she’d tell him this time. She’d leave him with the truth and the scent of her hair on his sheets. 

“Take me home.” 

The words had barely escaped when he stepped into her, dragging her into the current. His hands were on her waist and beneath her chin and she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe when he was this close— 

“Not yet. Everyone is going to see me kiss you like you’re mine, Granger. Because you are.” 

His lips captured hers. 

And there were a million reasons they shouldn’t, but her mind had blanked around a three letter word.

_His._

Her lips parted, and she kissed him back.

He felt like fire beneath her fingertips. 

His hands gripped her hair and trailed the bare skin of her back as his tongue swept through her mouth. She poured herself into him, her legs swaying and fingers clutching, drowning as she drank his air like oxygen. 

A wave of cheers broke them apart. Blood rushed through Hermione’s ears as she blinked at the dance floor. She watched the singer bow to the audience before Malfoy spun her around, guiding her swiftly towards the exit.

The room narrowed to the heat of his hand and the pace of her heartbeat. She tried to breathe as they slipped through the doors. 

“Hermione!” 

She froze, and Malfoy slammed into her. His hands shot out, pulling her back to his chest, and she heard his sharp breath as she steadied herself. 

He was hard. 

Her stomach swooped as Percy and Audrey Weasley strolled over to them. Malfoy quickly released her. 

“Percy. Audrey,” Hermione managed. 

“I wouldn’t plan to leave yet, if I were you.” Audrey sniffed as she came to a halt. “There’s been an incident.”

“Some drunken idiot turned into his Animagus.” Percy’s face was sour. “Apparently he gave security a run for their money. They’ve shut all the fireplaces down while they search—”

“Excuse us,” said Malfoy, and then he was grabbing Hermione’s elbow and tugging her through the Atrium. 

Her body was floating and her mind dizzy, as if she’d downed an entire bottle of champagne. There was no time for questions; no space to process the faces in the crowd. There was only the need inside her, growing raw and clamorous as the heat of his palm seeped into her skin. 

They darted around the guests congregating by the fountain, and just when Hermione thought they were heading to the fireplaces, Malfoy took a sharp left. He led her to one of the corridors on the northeast wall, and she stared down it, her vision tunneling like parting waves. 

There was a single stall loo halfway down. 

His hand found hers, and she didn’t breathe until they were inside. He slammed the door behind her, shoving her against the wall as she grabbed his robes and dragged him down with her. Her clutch fell to the ground as his lips crashed into hers, and she kissed him as hard and hungry and desperate as she’d always wanted to. 

There was an indescribable feeling in her lungs as his hands tangled in her hair and roved her body, cupping her face, breasts, and waist as his mouth moved over hers. His touch was as ravenous as she felt.

She wasn’t alone in this. 

_His._

The thought frenzied her, burning her from the inside out. Her fingers tore at his trousers, and he groaned into her mouth as she struggled and yanked at them. He was hard and ready for her, and she needed him so badly she could cry. 

“Please,” she breathed. “Please—” 

“Fuck,” he said, panting harshly in her neck. “Fuck, Granger.” 

It took two rolls of her hips against his thigh to break him. He threw her hands off and undid his trousers with brutal efficiency, his teeth nipping a path down her neck and collarbones. She tugged at his hair when he mouthed at her breasts, and before she knew what was happening, her tie sleeves were loose and her expensive new bra was being ripped from her body. 

Her hand shot out to clutch her dress around her ribs as he rucked the fabric up her hips, crouching to peel her knickers down her legs. She felt her face burn when she lifted her heels for him, but then he was standing tall again and pinning her hands and hips against the wall. Her breath hitched as her dress fell around her waist.

The room spun as he drank her in, his eyes black and scorching. He held her gaze as he released one of her wrists, sliding his hand beneath her thigh to wrap her leg around him. Just when she thought he’d kiss her, he dipped to capture her nipple in his mouth. 

She gasped, arching her back as he worshiped her breasts with his tongue and teeth, his cock grinding against her thigh. He released her other hand to press his fingers to her lips and she opened for him, moaning and sucking hard. 

And then his fingers were gone with a sharp, “ _Fuck_ ,” and his tongue tangled with hers as he lifted her leg higher. She whimpered as his wet fingers found her clit, and he followed her when she jerked her head away, swallowing her sounds. 

He worked her in quick circles while she mewled, her hips rocking and fingers curling in his shoulders. She didn’t realize she’d been begging until he pushed her higher against the wall, his fingers pausing to position himself. 

Her legs trembled when he prodded her entrance. She was so wet, but this part was never easy— 

“Perfect.” He kissed her face, her neck, his fingers still rubbing her. “You’re fucking perfect—”

“More. I need—” Her voice choked off as the tip of him pushed inside. He groaned and hitched her thigh up. 

She needed everything. Needed the way he burned into her, stretching her in the shape of him. 

He kissed her softly, his tongue brushing against hers, and the fire reignited with a pump of his hips. Hermione’s neck fell back as he began moving, each push and drag of his cock winding her tighter and tighter. Malfoy growled as she yanked at him, nipping her lips and pressing her harder against the wall. 

He was almost seated when he stilled, his breaths ragged as he massaged her. 

“Fucking beautiful.”

She whined, heat rippling through her core. 

“Missed your perfect lips and perfect cunt and perfect tits—”

He thrust fully inside and she came, her head flying backward, a wail tearing from her throat. His hips pounded into her once, twice as she cried out, her legs jerking as she saw white behind her eyelids. 

His hand cupped her mouth as she floated down. Her eyes blinked open, and she found him staring at the door, his muscles tense. 

The sound of muffled voices jolted her. Someone was outside. 

The doorknob jiggled, but before Hermione could panic, Malfoy was gripping her arse and slamming her back against the door. 

She panted at the ceiling, clinging to him like an anchor. He tore his wand from his robes, muttering a quick Repulsion Charm. 

“Ow! What the—” 

The voice fell silent with another flick of his wand. 

He tossed it aside, and then his mouth was demanding entrance again, his cock pummeling into her as if he might not have another chance. Her eyes rolled back in her head. 

The universe ceased to exist beyond the scent of him, the feel of him moving inside of her. She kissed him, her fingers threading through his hair, wondering how she ever lived without this. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” 

The door rattled as Malfoy ground to a halt. He dropped her leg to the floor and wrangled her arms above her head. Pressing his forehead to hers, he swiveled his hips, and her mouth fell open. 

She moved with him, rolling her hips in slow circles, his eyes never leaving her face. Then her legs writhed and her nipples tightened, and he sparked the inferno only he could set.

His hips tethered her while she spun. She keened as she clenched down on his cock, spiraling out of her body. When she came back down, he was moaning her name, pumping hard and quick and deep. 

He collapsed into her shoulder with a grunt, and she held him close, his heart hammering beneath her fingertips. 

Minutes, or lifetimes later, they caught their breath. Malfoy's lips brushed her forehead as he slipped free, lowering her leg to the floor. Gravity found her again, and she grabbed her dress to keep it from falling. Her eyelids fluttered, still drunk on the humming in her core. 

There was a puff of air on her face, and his hips slowly lifted from hers. She sagged against the door, boneless as his release dripped down her legs and onto the marble. 

Dimly, she heard Malfoy zip up his trousers, straighten his clothes, and crouch to his knees, muttering a few Scourify charms. Then he pressed a kiss to her thigh, and her eyes shot open. 

He coaxed her to lift her wobbly legs, one after another, his fingers skimming her skin as he slid her knickers back on. She managed to retie her left shoulder strap just as he stood, letting her dress fall around her ankles. 

His eyes skated over her face, then flicked down to her partially exposed chest. 

“Um—” Hermione bit her lip, suddenly uncertain. “I need my bra.” 

“Oh. Right.” With a wave of his wand, he summoned her bra and clutch. He cast a cleaning charm before handing them over. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

His gaze fell to her lips, as if magnetized. Then he blinked several times and turned to the right. 

She tucked her clutch beneath her elbow and slipped on her bra, her breath shallow. 

“You’re still welcome to come over.” 

Her fingers froze on her right shoulder strap.

“If you want to.” He was still staring at the wall. 

Something warm unfurled inside her, blossoming in her chest. 

“I’d like that.” 

His eyes jerked to hers. His mouth opened, but he seemed at a loss for words. 

She smoothed out her dress and ran her fingers through her curls. “Is my hair—” 

“Good. It’s—good.”

It was probably a lie, but she chose not to question it. 

“I’ll just—” 

There was an awkward shuffle as Malfoy moved past her to crack the door, looking both ways. He glanced back at her, and with a curt nod, he held it open. She moved forward, her chest brushing against his as she ducked beneath his arm. 

Noise assaulted her ears the moment she stepped through his Muffliato Charm. The crowd had grown in the Atrium, their chatter bouncing off the marble tiles. She could see throngs of people just outside the hallway, laughing and craning their necks in the direction of the fireplaces.

“I’m sure the Aurors’ Floo is open on Level Two.” 

Hermione turned to see Malfoy studying his shoes. 

“We can take the back lift, if you want.” He rolled his jaw. “The one by Magical Maintenance.” 

Blinking, she looked past him, down the dimly-lit corridor. It led to another corridor, winding around the perimeter of the Atrium.

They wouldn’t be seen.

“I got a bit carried away earlier.” Malfoy’s face was flushed, and he adjusted his collar. “I understand if you want to be discreet. I’m not assuming you’d—”

Her legs carried her to him. Sound faded beneath her heartbeat as she reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers. 

His eyes flickered to hers. She watched him stare at her as though she were the reason for all of this— the one dragging him out to sea. 

Smiling, she pulled Draco into the light, towards the voices drifting through the hallway. 

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0bGrd3lnbPI67hEX7Bzgdd?si=Nup1lp2dSFKgb0H1unejIQ) and [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0gVsG1BLgXFgC5D9gw1BCuXGuZAU7HlT). Big thanks to my dear [Magical Traveler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magical_traveler/) for helping me get these up. 💖
> 
> Hermione's dress was inspired by this beautiful [Elithien art](https://elithien.tumblr.com/post/620374443370463232/ministry-gala-au). 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, lovelies. Kudos and/or comments bring me joy. 🤗


End file.
